laurel which crowned the heads of Petrarch and Tasso, in both cases was
obtained by inferior productions: Scipio Africanus and Gerusalemme
Conquistata. That Napoleon, with "a million armed men under his command,
and half Europe at his feet, sat down in rage and affright to order
Fouche to send a little woman over the frontiers lest she should say
something about him for the drawing-rooms of Paris to laugh at." That
Faraday, who at first begged for the meanest place in a scientific
workshop, at last declined the highest honor which British science was
capable of granting. That the Jews of Amsterdam, exiles from Spain and
Portugal, who owed their existence to flight from repeated persecutions,
persecuted Spinoza, excommunicating him with "the anathema wherewith
Joshua cursed Jericho, with the curse which Elisha laid upon the
children, and with all the curses which are written in the law." That
the son of Charles Wesley, born and bred in Methodism, and bound to it
by all the strongest ties of pride and prejudice, became a Papist. That
Cowper was mad so great a part of his life, when he is the sanest of
English poets: of "fine frenzy" in his writings there is little or none.
That Burke, who, in his youth, "wrote on the emotions produced by
mountains and cascades; by the masterpieces of painting and sculpture;
by the faces and necks of beautiful women, in the style of a
parliamentary report," in his old age, "discussed treaties and tariffs
in the most fervid and brilliant language of romance." That Lord
Brougham, when chancellor, on the bench, hearing cases, wrote to Sir
David Brewster several letters on light, one of them fourteen pages
long. That a fourth part of Chalmers's Astronomical Discourses, which
rivaled the Waverley novels in popularity, were penned in a small
pocket-book, in a strange apartment, where he was liable every moment to
interruptions; for it was, we are told, at the manse of Balmerino,
disappointed in not finding the minister at home, and having a couple of
hours to spare--and in a drawing-room at the manse of Kilmany, with all
the excitement of meeting for the first time, after a year's absence,
many of his former friends and parishioners--that he penned paragraph
after paragraph of a composition which, as his son-in-law and
biographer, Dr. Hanna, says, bears upon it the aspect of high and
continuous elaboration. That the author of Auld Robin Gray kept the
authorship of her immortal ballad a secret for fifty years. That the
title of The Man of Feeling adhered to Mackenzie ever after the
publication of that novel; the public fancying him a pensive,
sentimental Harley, whereas he was, according to Cockburn, a
hard-headed, practical man, as full of worldly wisdom as most of his
fictitious characters are devoid of it. That Dryden, who was personally
more moral than any of the reigning wits at the commencement of the
Restoration, was, in the beginning of his career, the most deliberately
and unnaturally coarse as a writer--absolutely toiling and laboring
against the grain of his genius, to be sufficiently obscene to please
the town. That three great wits--Gay, Pope, and Arbuthnot--joined in the
production of a play which was condemned the first night it was acted.
That Abernethy, who was so bold in the practice of his profession,
suffered for so many years from extreme diffidence in the
lecture-room--"an unconquerable shyness, a difficulty in commanding at
pleasure that self-possession which was necessary to open his lecture;"
and that much as he sometimes forgot the courtesy due to his private
patients, he was never unkind to those whom charity had confided to his
care. (Leaving home one morning for the hospital when some one was
desirous of detaining him, he said, "Private patients, if they do not
like me, can go elsewhere; but the poor devils in the hospital I am
bound to take care of.") That Godwin, who wrote against matrimony, was
twice married; and while he scouted all commonplace duties, was a good
husband and kind father. That Mrs. Radcliffe had never been in Italy
when she wrote The Mysteries of Udolpho, yet her paintings of Italian
scenery, and of the mountains of Switzerland, for truth and richness of
coloring, have never been surpassed by poet or painter--not even by
Byron. That Professor Wilson, whose fame in great part rests upon Noctes
Ambrosianae, was indebted to Lockhart for the idea, who wrote the first
of those famous papers, and gave them their name. ("I have known
Lockhart long," said Wilson to a visitor; "we used to sup together with
Blackwood, and that was the real origin of the Noctes. 'At Ambrose's?'
'At Ambrose's.' 'But is there such a tavern really?' 'Oh, certainly.
Anybody will show it to you. It is a small house, kept in an
out-of-the-way corner of the town, by Ambrose, who is an excellent
fellow in his way, and has had a great influx of custom in consequence
of his celebrity in the Noctes. We were there one night very late, and
had all been remarkably gay and agreeable. 'What a pity,' said Lockhart,
'that some short-hand writer had not been here to take down the good
things that have been said at this supper.' The next day he produced a
paper called Noctes Ambrosianae, and that was the first. I continued them
afterward.") That in Robespierre's desk, after his death, were found
David's plans of academies for infancy and asylums for age: "being just
about to inaugurate the Reign of Love when the conspiracy against him
swept him down the closing abyss of the Reign of Terror." That
Lamartine, the French orator, poet, and political leader, when at the
zenith of his popularity, was rejected as a witness in court where he
had offered himself, the reason of the rejection being that in his youth
he had been convicted of a theft. That Mallet, although pensioned for
the purpose, never, according to Dr. Johnson, wrote a single line of his
projected life of Marlborough,--groping for materials, and thinking of
it, till he exhausted his mind. That Robert Morris, the superintendent
of finance during the American Revolution, who, on his personal
responsibility, borrowed large sums of money for the use of the
government, which, on account of the known state of the treasury, could
not have been procured in any other way; who refused the post of
secretary of the treasury offered to him by Washington--naming Alexander
Hamilton for the station--in his old age, having lost his fortune, was
confined in a Philadelphia prison, for debt. That in America, in the
Province of Pennsylvania, it was enacted by the Council, William Penn
presiding, that the laws should "not be printed;" and William Bradford
was summoned before the Governor and Council for printing the Charter or
Frame of Government of the Province; and Joseph Growden, who caused the
printing of the same, with some remarks thereon, was censured by
Governor Blackwell, "not only for that it was false, but for that the
Proprietor (William Penn) had declared himself against the use of the
printing-press." That Beau Brummell, who was for many years the
associate of royalty and leader of fashion in England, died,
poverty-stricken and miserable, in a French hospital for lunatic
mendicants. That the great and good Dr. Johnson, "that majestic teacher
of moral and religious wisdom," when he was in Edinburgh, although
personally acquainted with the celebrated Dr. Robertson, declined going
to hear him preach, because he "would not be seen in a Presbyterian
church;" and upon being asked by Boswell where John Knox was buried,
burst out, "I hope in the highway." That Wordsworth earnestly defended
the Church Establishment, saying he would shed his blood for it, when he
had confessed that he knew not when he had been in a church in his own
country. ("All our ministers," he said, "are so vile.") That the vanity
of Sir Philip Francis, in the opinion of Moore, led him to think that it
was no great addition to his fame to have the credit of Junius, having
done, according to his own notion, much better things. ("This," said the
poet, "gets over one of the great difficulties in accounting for the
concealment; and it must have been, at all events, either some very
celebrated man who could dispense with such fame, or some very vain man
who thought he could.") That August von Kotzebue, "the idol of the mob,"
was despised if not hated by the great poets of his country. ("One of
his plays, The Stranger," said an eminent Englishman, "I have seen
acted in German, English, Spanish, French, and, I believe, also in
Italian.") That Lavater, with all his real and pretended knowledge of
human nature, was duped by Cagliostro. That Hogarth had the impression,
which his reputation as a satirist could never disturb, that historical
painting was his true vocation. That the mild Melancthon approved of the
burning of Servetus. That Joseph Scaliger, who perfectly understood
thirteen languages, was deeply versed in almost every branch of
literature--perhaps one of the greatest scholars that any age has
produced--found so much perplexity, not in acquiring, but in
communicating his knowledge, that sometimes, like Nero, he wished he had
never known his letters. That Chillingworth, the constant study of whose
works was recommended by Locke, "for attaining the way of right
reasoning," and of whom it was affirmed that he had "such extraordinary
clear reason, that if the great Turk or devil could be converted, he was
able to do it," contracted, according to Lord Clarendon, "such an
irresolution and habit of doubting, that at last he was confident of
nothing." That Gray's Elegy, taking the author's own word for it, was
not intended for the public; the poet's sole ambition being to gratify a
few of his friends; his own family, even, were not made a party to his
writings, and his fond mother lived and died in ignorance of his
immortal verse. That Playfair, when racked on his death-bed with pain,
and a relation wishing to amuse him by reading one of Scott's novels, of
which he was very fond, dissuaded it, saying, he would rather try the
Principia. That Horace Walpole, who was greedy to excess of praise, and
keenly sensitive to criticism, professed a strong aversion to being
considered a man of letters; and that with all his avowed contempt for
literary fame, left fair copies of his private correspondence, with
copious notes, to be published after his decease. That Mirabeau, who
came into the world with "a huge head, a pair of grinders, one foot
twisted, and tongue-tied, disfigured when three years old by confluent
small-pox," called, as he grew up, a "monster," a "disheveled bully,"
"as ugly as the nephew of Satan," turned out to be the Demosthenes of
France, and the idol of beautiful Parisian women. That Sanson, the
hereditary French executioner, who officiated at the decapitation of
Louis XVI., founded, before he died, a perpetual anniversary mass for
the repose of the monarch's soul; and wrote his Memoirs in the style of
a philanthropist, whom fate had condemned to officiate at the
guillotine. That Rousseau, the chief article of whose rather hazy creed
was the duty of universal philanthropy, fancied himself the object of
all men's hatred. That Cowper, who held that the first duty of man was
the love of God, fancied himself the object of the irrevocable hatred of
his Creator. That the very name of the Cross was forbidden by the French
Republic at the very time when it had proclaimed unbounded religious
freedom. That the charge of plagiarism against Sterne rests in great
part upon his plagiarizing an invective against plagiarism. That George
Crabbe gave the leisure of more than twenty of his ripest years to
writing three novels, which he afterward burned. That Francois Huber,
who wrote the extraordinary Treatise on the Economy of Bees, which for
general information on the subject has never been superseded, was from
the sixteenth year of his age totally blind,--all the curious remarks
and inferences involved in his observations being founded on fifty years
of careful researches which he directed others, and particularly a
favorite servant, to make. That eighteen years elapsed after the time
that Columbus conceived his enterprise before he was enabled to carry it
into effect,--most of that time being passed in almost hopeless
solicitation, amidst poverty, neglect, and taunting ridicule; when
"Amerigo Vespucci, the pickle-dealer at Seville, who went out, in 1499,
a subaltern with Hojeda, and whose highest naval rank was boatswain's
mate in an expedition that never sailed, managed in this lying world to
supplant Columbus, and baptize half the earth with his dishonest name."
That Montaigne, who considered cruelty "the extreme of all vices," was a
friend of the Guises and of the blood-stained Mont-luc: he was also for
many years a member of a parliament which had much innocent blood on its
head, and always spoke with reverence and affection of those who carried
out the St. Bartholomew. That La Fontaine, who in his Fables "makes
animals, trees, and stones talk," was in his conversation proverbially
dull and stupid. That Corneille, whom La Bruyere describes as "plain,
timorous, and tiresome in his conversation," "taking one word for
another, and judging not of the goodness of his own writings but by the
money they brought him," in his books is "as great as Augustus, Pompey,
Nicomedes, and Heraclius; he talks like a king; is a politician and a
philosopher; he undertakes to make heroes speak and act; he describes
the Romans, and they are greater and more Romans in his verse than in
their history." That John Howard, "the philanthropist" and prison
reformer, introduced the system of solitary confinement, and recommended
its application to refractory boys. ("For which," said the gentle
Charles Lamb, "I could spit on his statue.") That Bruce, the traveler,
after all his perils by flood and by field, from wars, from wild beasts,
from deserts, from savage natives, broke his neck down his own staircase
at home, owing to a slip of the foot, while seeing some visitors out
whom he had been entertaining. That Diogenes, who was so fond of
expressing his contempt for money, in his younger days was driven out of
the kingdom of Pontus for counterfeiting the coin. That the mighty Dr.
Johnson was at times so languid as not to be able to distinguish the
hour upon the clock. That the ready and voluminous De Quincey, during
the four years he was "under the Circean spells of opium," seldom could
prevail on himself to write even a letter; an answer of a few words to
any that he received was the utmost that he could accomplish; and that,
often, not until the letter had lain weeks, or even months, on his
writing-desk. That out of the name of Epicurus was coined a synonym for
indulgence and sensuality, when that virtuous philosopher "placed his
felicity not in the pleasures of the body, but the mind, and
tranquillity thereof;" who "was contented with bread and water;" and
when he would feast with Jove, "desired no other addition than a piece
of Cytheridian cheese." That Phidias made his sitting statue of Jupiter
so large "that if he had risen up he had borne up the top of the
temple." That Canova, whenever the conversation turned upon sculpture,
exhibited "a freshly-bedaubed tablet," "with a smile of paternal pride."
That Goethe undervalued himself as a poet, claiming only superiority
over his "century" in "the difficult science of colors." That Jerrold
was ambitious to write a treatise on natural philosophy. That Paul
Jones, the "hero of desperate sea-fights," was enamored of Thomson's
Seasons. That Bonaparte, who "overran Europe with his armies,"
"recreated himself with the wild rhapsodies of Ossian." That John
Wesley, who "set all in motion," was himself (as described by Robert
Hall) "perfectly calm and phlegmatic"--"the quiescence of turbulence."
That Persius, whose satires are most licentious, sharp, and full of
bitterness, is described as "very chaste, though a beautiful young man:
sober, as meek as a lamb, and as modest as a young virgin." That Luis de
Camoens, the greatest of the Portuguese poets, for a long time was
supported by a devoted Javanese servant, Antonio, who collected alms for
him during the night, and nursed him during the day. That Paulo
Borghese, pronounced almost as good a poet as Tasso, was master of
fourteen trades, and died because he could get employment in none. That
Bentivoglio, "whose comedies will last with the Italian language,"
having dissipated a noble fortune in acts of charity and benevolence,
and fallen into misery in his old age, was refused admittance into a
hospital which he himself had erected. That Demosthenes "threw down his
arms when he came within sight of the enemy, and lost that credit in the
camp which he gained in the pulpit." That Socrates, by the oracle
adjudged to be the wisest of mortals, "when he appeared in the attempt
of some public performance before the people," "faltered in the first
onset;" and "did not recover himself, but was hooted and hissed home
again." That Plato, the philosopher, was "so dashed out of countenance
by an illiterate rabble as to demur, and hawk, and hesitate, before he
could get to the end of one short sentence." That Theophrastus was "such
another coward, who, beginning to make an oration, was presently struck
down with fear, as if he had seen some ghost or hobgoblin." That
Isocrates was so bashful and timorous, that though he taught rhetoric,
yet he could never have the confidence to speak in public. That Cicero,
that master of Roman eloquence, "begun his speeches with a low,
quivering voice, just like a school-boy afraid of not saying his lesson
perfect enough to escape whipping." That Pope, who had the courage in
his Dunciad to attack a whole generation of scholars and wits,
acknowledged his inability to face a half-dozen persons to make a
statement or relate an incident of considerable length. That Plutarch,
the greatest of biographers, is without a biography,--none of the
eminent Roman writers who were his contemporaries even mention his name.
That of Correggio, who delineated the features of others so well, there
exists no authentic portrait. That of Romanianus, whom Augustine speaks
of as the greatest genius that ever lived, there is nothing known but
his name. That the epitaph of Gordianus, though written in five
languages, proved insufficient to save him from oblivion. That Domitian,
after he had possessed himself of the Roman Empire, turned his desires
upon catching flies. That Hazlitt, "because his face was as pale and
clear as marble," was "pointed at as the 'pimpled Hazlitt;'" and
"because he never tasted anything but water," was "held up as an
habitual gin-drinker and a sot." That Robert Burns in early life was
thought to be insensible to music. (Murdock, the teacher of Burns and
his brother Gilbert, says that he "tried to teach them a little sacred
music, but found this impracticable, there being no music in either of
their souls. As for Robert, his ear was so completely dull that he could
not distinguish one tune from another, and his voice was so untunable
that he could not frame a note, and was left behind by all the boys and
girls of the school.") That Sir Isaac Newton, though so deep in algebra
and fluxions, could not, according to Spence, readily make up a common
account, and whilst he was master of the mint, used to get somebody to
make up the account for him. That Socrates, according to Plato, gave
occasion of laughter, at the expense of his own reputation, to the
Athenians, for having never been able to sum up the votes of his tribe
to deliver it to the council. That Prime Minister Gladstone, upon being
asked how he employed his mind when duty compelled him to sit on the
bench of the ministers while a tory was delivering himself of a dull
three hours' harangue, made answer, "Last evening, when Mr. ---- was
speaking, I turned Rock of Ages into the Greek, and had half an hour to
spare." That the great and wise and pious Chalmers so far adopted and
became impressed with the views of Malthus as to urge the expediency of
a restraint upon marriage, and that the same be "inculcated upon the
people as the very essence of morality and religion by every pastor and
instructor throughout England." That The Admirable Crichton, master of a
dozen languages, after disputing for six hours with eminent doctors of
Padua on topics of science, delighting the assembly as much by his
modesty as by his wonderful learning and judgment, at the conclusion,
gave an extemporaneous oration in praise of ignorance with so much
ingenuity that he reconciled his audience to their inferiority. That the
Duke of Marlborough, who, while an ensign of guards, received from the
Duchess of Cleveland, then favorite mistress of Charles II., five
thousand pounds, with which he bought an annuity for his life of five
hundred pounds,--the foundation of his subsequent fortune,--afterward,
when he was famous as well as rich, and the Duchess was wretched and
necessitous, "refused the common civility of lending her twenty
guineas." That although Sir Isaac Newton was of opinion that he
"excelled particularly in making verses," no authentic specimen of his
poetry has been preserved. That the first public speech of John
Randolph, three hours in length, and which established his reputation as
an orator, was made in reply to the last ever delivered by the venerable
Patrick Henry,--the former in his twenty-sixth year, a self-announced
candidate for Congress, and the latter in his sixty-third year, the
candidate of George Washington for a place in the Virginia legislature.
That but a few years after John Brown's defeat and execution in
Virginia, Congress enacted a law and the president approved it, by which
a portion of the Harper's Ferry buildings, including the famous
engine-house, so nobly defended by the old hero, and to capture which
from his little garrison Robert E. Lee and the United States marines had
to be sent for, was presented by the government as a free gift to the
Storer College, an institution expressly designed for the education of
colored men. That Henry A. Wise, who, as governor of Virginia, hung John
Brown, a few years afterward, fled Richmond, the capital of Virginia,
at the head of a Confederate division of white troops, closely followed
by a division of loyal black troops, singing, "John Brown's body lies
mouldering in the grave, but his soul is marching on." That a daughter
of John Brown taught a free school of emancipated slave children in the
deserted drawing-room of Henry A. Wise. That about the same time, at
Lumpkin's Jail, which was the slave-market, there was established a
theological seminary for colored young men. That Richard Realf, one of
John Brown's trusted men, was appointed assessor of internal revenue for
the district of Edgefield, South Carolina. That the first Confederate
officer in South Carolina who officially met an officer of colored
troops under a flag of truce was Captain John C. Calhoun. That one of
Jefferson Davis's old slaves became a lessee of Jefferson Davis's old
plantation. That Foote, the celebrated actor, died with the dropsy,
never in his life, as he said, having drank a drop of water. That the
great Neander, sometimes called the "second John,"--"the son of thunder
and the son of love,"--had his mind first turned in the direction in
which he afterward found truth and peace, by a passage in Plutarch's
Pedagogue. That Plutarch, who wrote so voluminously and excellently upon
morals, great personages, and great influences, made no mention in any
of his books of Christ or Christianity. ("If we place his birth," says
Archbishop Trench, "at about the year A. D. 50, then long before he
began to write, St. Peter and St. Paul must have finished their course.
All around him--at Rome, where he dwelt so long; in that Greece where
the best part of his life was spent; in Asia Minor, with which Greece
was in constant communication; in Macedonia--there were flourishing